Philip sighed. "A prophecy that is in our favour."
"Based on the numerology hidden in the Revelation of Saint John-"
"It speaks of the year of wonders. The beginning of the final cycle. Upheavals for all. The end of empires. The end of England."
Medina Sidonia was not convinced. "Some say-"
"I say!" Philip shouted. "The end of England! Do not question me!" Steadying himself, he studied the weakness in Medina Sidonia's face before trying to bolster his commander. "God is on our side. He will not allow us to be defeated. There is much you do not know, much that must be kept secret from you if our plans are to succeed. We have a secret ally, and a weapon of great power that will be at your disposal. England will fall, and such destruction will be wreaked on that country and its people that there will be no doubt to whom the prophecy refers."
Curtly, he waved his hand to dismiss Medina Sidonia, and then hurried from the reception room as quickly as his gout-ridden feet would carry him. By the time he reached his quarters he had already forgotten the duke, the Armada, and the invasion.
Malantha waited for him, naked, sprawled on the divan, so brazen in her sexuality that he could barely look at her, yet could not look away. As much as he desired her, he was unsettled by the way she watched him; and sometimes, when she fell into the corner of his vision, he was convinced he saw something white and cold and predatory, not Malantha at all.
"I have good news," she said, without warmth. "I have spoken with my brother Cavillex, and our plans proceed accordingly. Don Alanzo brings the Silver Skull to Spain." A brief narrowing of her eyes was replaced by a seductive smile. "As you acquiesced to his request."
"He deserves that at least for all his sacrifices."
"And after that brief respite," she continued, "the Skull will be readied to travel with the Armada."
"And the Shield?"
"Not yet under our control, but that is a trifling matter. It is unnecessary, in the end. England will still be devastated by disease."
"I worry about so many deaths upon my conscience." Trembling, he collapsed onto the divan and covered his face.
Sliding next to him, Malantha breathed into his ear, "God will forgive that, for the great works you do in His name." Gently, she pressed her breasts against his arm. The heat rose in Philip rapidly. "The High Family will ensure no other country stands in your way."
"You are sure?" He slipped a hand onto her thigh, his remorse already evaporated.
"My brothers have the ears of the greatest in Europe."
"You spin your web well."
"All for you, my love. All for Spain."
Another flash of chalky skin and red-rimmed eyes that held no compassion. He screwed his eyes shut and drove the image out, allowing himself to be pushed back as she climbed astride him. Within seconds he was lost in her lips and her perfume, like honeysuckle, and all his troubles and doubts and fears were washed away.
CHAPTER 29
ilthy from the road and exhausted after nearly two weeks' hard riding, Nathaniel guided his foaming, sweat-flecked horse through the dirty, crowded streets of London. It was not long after noon, the sun unseasonably hot for early April. He had found the city abuzz, as always, but for the first time there was a pervading uncertainty in the faces of the people he passed. In the time he had been away, the fear of the Spanish invasion had magnified, visiting merchants from the European ports spreading dark rumours and gossip as quickly as they distributed their wares.
At the gates of the Palace of Whitehall, Nathaniel could barely believe he had reached his destination. Since he had left Edinburgh as dawn broke all those long days and nights ago, he felt his life had hung by a thread many times. Within hours of his journey beginning, five hooded raiders had swept down from the hills to pursue him along the valley between the high summits that stretched south along Scotland's lowlands, and he was only saved by a small group of the king's men who had been sent to accompany him to the border. The fighting had been ferocious and many of James's men had died; Nathaniel had heard their death-screams echoing among the hillsides, and when he glanced back he had seen flashes of mysterious fire.
Once he had crossed the border into England, the attacks were not so overt, but he had been shadowed by riders near the moors as he passed Carlisle, and again as he made his way through the high peaks that formed the spine of the country. Someone had attempted to break into his room during a terrifying night in an inn, when every time he locked the door it would mysteriously open whenever he was distracted.
A pack of wolves appeared to track him across most of the country, and strangers waited at crossroads, threatening him as he rode by, or urging him to stop for food or drink. On the first occasion, he had brought his mount to a halt, thinking the stranger needed directions. Soon he had found himself listening to a long, involved story that quickly made him drowsy, and only when he realised the stranger was attempting to search his saddlebag did he ride on. Just as unnerving was that within a mile he couldn't recall the stranger's face.
He had always considered himself a man of reason, but as he passed Oxford the sticky weight of superstition had finally begun to lie upon him. However much he attempted to dismiss the chance occurrences, they piled around him to such a degree that he saw supernatural danger in every shadow, and felt the Devil was at his heels. To save his sanity, he knew he would have to question Will when he returned to London, however much he dreaded the answers.
Within the palace walls, activity was beginning to build towards lunch after another lazy morning of discourse, sewing, business with visitors from the shires, or walks among the perfumed gardens. Nathaniel guided his horse directly to the Black Gallery, and on weary, shaking legs sought out Walsingham who had been in conference with a man recently returned from France. Whatever he had heard in that meeting had left him in a dark mood.
Nathaniel quickly outlined the events in Edinburgh, as far as he had been told, and related Will's desperate plea for Grace to be protected.
"I do not know this woman, but I will send men to bring her here now," Walsingham said. "If she requires protection, we can offer her the best in the land." He paused. "If she is still here."
Nathaniel felt a pang of fear. He had ridden as hard as he was able, but could their enemies have beaten him to the palace and still found the opportunity to capture Grace?
"And the reason you travelled to Edinburgh?" Walsingham pressed.
From his pack, Nathaniel withdrew the folded cloth and revealed the amulet. "The enemy fought hard to retrieve this, and pursued me all the way from Scotland. It must be vital to their plans."
Walsingham's eyes gleamed, but he would not touch the amulet. He called loudly for Dee, who hurried in a few moments later as Walsingham paced the room.
"You must tell no one that the doctor is here in England," Walsingham cautioned Nathaniel. He left Nathaniel in no doubt that the punishment for disobedience would be severe. But then he and Dee huddled over the amulet with barely restrained triumph.
"Is this the object we sought?" Walsingham asked.
"See here? The filigree? This symbol here? It is the language of angels," Dee said. "This is a true object of power."
"Then you will study it? Unlock its secrets?"
Dee nodded excitedly. "The Enemy will be eager to reclaim this. It must be kept in a place of formidable protection. The Tower?"
"No. Its defences have already been breached," Walsingham said. "We keep it close. Here, at the palace." He fixed an eye on Dee. "The Lantern Tower."